


Gala Grind

by secretagentfan



Category: No. 6 (Anime & Manga), No. 6 - All Media Types, No. 6 - Asano Atsuko
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:46:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28341876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secretagentfan/pseuds/secretagentfan
Summary: Shion's got a gala to cater - Nezumi has a gala to survive. College hadn't worked for either of them, but they're making it work.AU written for No.6 secret santa 2020!
Relationships: Nezumi/Shion (No. 6)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 34





	Gala Grind

**Author's Note:**

> @allxkka this is for you! Happy No.6 secret santa 2020!

Hours earlier, Nezumi had watched as the average hotel lobby transformed into an expensive-looking Gala hall, courtesy of staff members with dead eyes. At the time, he'd found it impressive, the way the white cloth tables, goody-bags, and endless floral arrangements were able to grant the blank room a weighted sort of potential energy. 

Now, though, he was confident that he had only watched the room go from one form of emptiness to another. Goody-bags were swept under chairs in an unending flood of expensive champagne and cheap conversation. Nezumi could feel the flowers _wilting_. 

"What's the name of this company anyway?" he asked the man sitting across from him. The placard at his seat read: "Yoming".

" _Civitas Rosis_. You don't know of us?" Yoming replied. As he spoke a shiny gold watch on his wrist caught the light.

Nezumi's finger traced the rim of his champagne glass - of course it was empty, now when he needed it most. "I'm a plus-one," he said. "Guest of a guest. That is quite a name." 

"It's Latin. The title is from one of our parent companies we outgrew," Yoming said, with the air of a proud conqueror. "The taking of their title was a sort of symbolic representation of our independence. We're the kind of place that never forgets the little steps that helped us get where we are."

"Oh, I see. A real rags-to-riches Cinderella story."

"We consider it more David and Goliath," Yoming said, dark eyes glinting. Nezumi envisioned a future where he strangled him with his necktie, unbuckled the watch from his wrist, and pawned it off for a lifetime supply of macaroons. It was a bright future.

"Of course," Nezumi drawled. "Although…in _this_ David and Goliath story David would have to put on Goliath's skin after he took him down. A little too graphic to market, don't you think?"

The businessman fluffed up like an offended bird. "What did you say your name was?"

"My name? Rikiga," Nezumi simpered, and then flashed his teeth. "Most sincere apologies. Are you always so defensive or did you steal that from your dead parent company too?"

The silence between them stretched for a full minute - not that anyone could tell over the boot-licking and networking chatter that filled the rest of the dining area. 

"Who are you guest of?" Yoming asked, slowly.

 _The caterer,_ Nezumi thought, but he wasn't about to get Shion into trouble with his millionaire undercover boss. He pointed blindly at the name plaque next to him. Yoming's face scrunched.

"Tori, I should have known."

Nezumi had no idea who this Tori was, but he felt a fleeting sort of guilt for the resigned way Yoming said his name, and the speed at which he stood.

"Good day, Mr. Rikiga," Yoming said in a tone of voice that made it abundantly clear nothing good was about to happen.

"A pleasure meeting you!" 

Yoming was dialing a number on his cellphone with frightening speed as he ducked out of the room. Poor Tori.

Oh well. It was time to leave that table anyway. First though...

The goody-bags were mostly filled with useless nonsense: Business cards and _Civitas Rosis_ plastic shot glasses and salt-shakers, but there was a gem at the bottom. Nezumi dumped the junk into Tori's abandoned bag, but rescued the carefully-wrapped bag of cookies and a card to Karan's bakery - painfully sincere amongst all the company-labelled knick-knacks and trappings. 

Like a certain someone.

Nezumi exhaled. He _probably_ shouldn't have picked a fight. He hoped this minor tiff wouldn't reflect negatively on Karan and Shion's impeccable skills and service. He popped one of the cookies in his mouth, chewed.

"Nezumi!"

Shion. He was clumsily weaving through the tables - balm to Nezumi's exhausted soul, relentlessly appealing in his all-black formal catering uniform.

"You look nice," Nezumi swallowed appreciatively, before popping another cookie in his mouth, looking him up and down.

Flattery and exhaustion warred on Shion's face. He pulled out the seat next to Nezumi, but then pushed it back in, evidently, deciding standing would be better.

“Something to say, Shion?”

“I have a favor to ask,” Shion said.

He held Nezumi’s hand in both of his. Nezumi stopped chewing.

* * *

“Please Nezumi, their singer is sick!” Shion grumbled, following Nezumi into the bathroom so they could keep the conversation private. “They need someone to sing a few songs and say just _a few_ nice things about the company and I know you’ve done galas before—hey. Don’t look like that. You have the training for this!”

“I dropped out, Shion,” Nezumi replied, colder than he meant to be.

 _Training_ was a bit of a trigger word if he was being completely honest. As a proud college dropout, he had recently come to terms with the fact that the best thing his stint in academia had given him was ecologist-turned-caterer Shion.

Shion was not deterred. He shook his head, quickly slipping an OUT OF ORDER sign onto the door to the men’s bathroom.

“Listen to me—"

“— _Why_ are you carrying that?” Nezumi asked, temporarily distracted.

“Sometimes caterers need some time alone,” Shion clarified without hesitation. “I’m not giving up on this. You’re the only one who can do this Nezumi, and your voice is beautiful. You have _soul_. That’s all an audience needs. A diploma doesn’t matter— _You_ taught me that.”

Ugh, Nezumi had. Theoretically. Shion had been miserable in grad school, signing up for all the most difficult labs to challenge his own brilliant mind. It had been a mistake. A brilliant mind wasn’t what his professors wanted— cutting corners was, and Shion wasn’t going to do that.

Shion had dropped first. A month later, Nezumi made the same call, but for very different reasons.

Pursuing a degree in theater, in all honesty, had been a mistake.

His heart had wanted it, though. Nezumi’s stupid heart, still beating, ever-longing, ready to make important life decisions with the loudest possible voice no matter how deeply he buried it in his chest. His _heart_ had won him over during the lonely years after high school— singing in bars for tips. It had convinced him that with education maybe _that_ could be a job—his full-time job. A job where he wouldn’t have to scrape by and beg.

So, he had saved. He had saved and he paid for some classes. An education. Rags-to-riches, right?

As it turned out, Nezumi paid _a lot_ for academia to teach his heart what his head knew already: love was disappointing. Love didn’t fill your stomach, or your pockets. Love left you with debt—left you with _dreams_. Singing wasn’t a career—it was a survival mechanism.

So yeah, he didn’t much like to be reminded of his _training_. He didn’t particularly like to be reminded of his soul, either.

“Shion—” he started, but Shion kissed him before he could finish, pressing him gently into the wall of the nice hotel bathroom. His heart took over— no more thoughts— as he wrapped his arms around Shion’s shoulders and felt the fabric of his stupid hot catering uniform. Warm. Shion was so fucking warm, all the time.

He had just about forgotten what they were talking about when Shion broke away, eyes impossibly bright.

“I _know you_ ,” he whispered, voice low and urgent enough to send a tiny, tiny tremor down Nezumi’s spine. “I know you, Nezumi, and you love to perform. Why are you resisting? What’s holding you back? Let me help.”

His hand was on Nezumi’s cheek, and Nezumi felt his resolve crumble.

Dammit. Damn him. Damn this. Damn Nezumi’s stupid beating heart. Damn the excitement in Nezumi’s veins, the stupid thrilling call of _the stage_. Damn this man, this infuriating, wonderful man that knew Nezumi’s stupid, stupid, stupid, _theatrical_ heart.

“I’ll sing, Shion,” he said, finally, meeting the torrent that was Shion’s eyes. “I just can’t promise any miracles. Don’t get your hopes up.”

“I’m not asking for miracles, Nezumi,” Shion replied, grinning victoriously. His lips were red; his cheeks appealingly flushed. “Just you. Just your voice. That’s always been enough, you know.”

Nezumi’s heart may have lost when it came to his college education, but with Shion…Well. Maybe the debt was worth it.

* * *

Nezumi stood in front of the crowd, microphone in hand. His set list and suggested script sat on a music stand in a black binder. No one would have to know there was actually no paper in the binder, but rather that everything had been hastily scrawled on a napkin by the company treasurer.

Nezumi tapped the microphone once. Feedback echoed through the gala hall, but hey, it caught everyone’s attention so mission accomplished.

“Having fun tonight?” he offered to the stuffy suits and ties. He was rewarded with polite applause.

 _God,_ Nezumi thought. _Sounds_ _like a fucking golf game._ He almost missed the constant cat-calls of his bar. Almost.

His heart was beating though, thudding in a way that clearly never got the message this was stupid and pointless. His eyes scanned the crowd and found Karan and Shion at their modest table in the back. He smiled, for them, slipping into the role of gala MC.

Shion really did look _great_ in that uniform.

“Let’s give another round of applause for our lovely host _Civitas Rosis_ — long may they reign!”

The sarcasm didn’t slip through to his voice but judging by the rewarding scowl on Yoming’s face and the expanding smile on Shion’s— it was understood by the parties that needed to hear it.

Shion, to Nezumi’s surprise and delight, couldn’t stand Yoming either. He had apparently been flirting at Karan for almost the entire party, and Shion, for all his gullibility, had a bullshit detector that could rival Nezumi’s. When he had heard about Nezumi’s earlier argument, seconds before Nezumi was shoved to the stage, his face had changed. There was a rare, vengeful glint in his eyes as he whispered: _Honestly, I’m glad you did_ — _now maybe I’ll be able to resist arguing with him, myself. Maybe._

Fuck, Nezumi loved him.

It was a stray thought, but a true one, and one Nezumi didn’t have time to over-consider as he picked up the mic and began to sing, voice echoing through the lobby.

Yoming, pleasingly, had a deep scowl on his face, but Karan was mouthing the words next to him. Yeah that wouldn’t last.

Nezumi’s life hadn’t really gone according to plan.

He was a college drop-out singing in a hotel lobby that meant nothing to him, and for a company he couldn’t stand.

But still, he smiled as he sang. It wasn’t to survive— wasn’t for an ill-advised money-making dream, but for the caterer watching with enamored eyes in the back of the room.

It was _fun_. His heart pulsed in his chest, poor, but satisfied.

It was his best performance yet.


End file.
